Forgotten Nostalgia
by SophiaL17
Summary: Their relationship has never been normal, simple and devoid of problems. A lot of things had occurred, but they had survived them. But can their bond sustain one more impact or will it shatter under the heavy weight of the present... and the past?
1. Silence

_Edit: I've reposted the first three chapters. Nothing much has changed; I've only included a title in each chapter and changed some very minor things._

* * *

_Chapter one: Silence_

It was silent. Too silent.

Normally, a silence wouldn't be uncomfortable. In fact, they would both feel very comfortable. Many evenings, they had relished each other's company without speaking a word. It was a sign that words or actions were not needed to create an enjoyable atmosphere.

But now, when his eyes were staring at the familiar carpet, he thought – again – whether he had chosen the right path. The sentences were very logical when they were spoken in his mind. But, when uttered, they were anything but coherent. It wouldn't surprise him if he had voiced nonsense and muttered incomplete words.

He quickly closed his eyes and tensed his body.

This was not going well. Not at all.

The other didn't show any outward signs. He sat unmoved, with his mouth closed, his body rigid and his piercing eyes focused on his onyx ones. Even when he told him the details – every detail – the other was still unresponsive: no movement, no sharp intake of a breath, no shifting of the body, no widening of the eyes.

Nothing.

This was not how he had imagined it. There were many scenarios possible, and he had repeated them many times before he decided to see him. But this event, the reality, was new. He had no idea what course of action he should take.

This was a mistake.

A deep, shuddering breath was released, but it did not calm him. No, it agitated him even more. His muscles continued their stretching, his mind continued its many processes and his thoughts were dashing in his crowded head, one thought more troubling than the previous one.

How many minutes had passed already? He had absolutely no idea. It didn't interest him. Nothing interested him. The only thing he wanted to know was _his _thoughts: what the other was thinking when he entered the well-known room in a distressed way, when he told him his thoughts, when he told him the events, when he had finished his story, when it was silent for many moments...

He wanted to know. He _needed _to know.

Because... this was all he had left. _He _was all he had left.


	2. Mistake

_Chapter two: Mistake_

It was quiet and dark in the small, dirty room. The only occupant in the room could not smell the blood – it was too familiar to him now. He could not see anything: his eyes were blindfolded with a cloth stained with sweat and blood, both new and old. He could not feel anything; his body was numbed, for the nerves in his hands were trapped by an invisible rope, and the rest of his body was sedated. The room was soundproof. He was cut off from the outside world. The only existing world to him was this small space.

Whatever happened in here, must be kept secret, he thought with a knowing sneer.

Severus Snape started suddenly. He blinked, refocusing his attention, looking around, somewhat confused. At some point, his mind must had drifted off, but that also meant that something had re-awoken him.

Ah. His companion had moved – after so much time sitting completely still and in complete silent.

He looked at him, hoping for some reaction, anything – but he was not the subject of the other's attention. Once again, he wondered what the other occupant of this room was thinking. He couldn't shake the unnerving feeling off; what if the other...

No... because his friend had told him that it should never have happened in the first place! They had abused the power they had, the unfortunate events that had befallen him, and the state that he had been in. They were the ones to blame.

How many times had he said that? He had even suggested that it was his fault, but Snape couldn't believe that.

He would never accept that; and would never change his opinion. Not about this person, who had guided him, cared for him, changed him...

But he tried to accept the first part. That it was not his fault – it was the fault of the others. He had really tried, so many times, but he couldn't stop the agitated thoughts.

And memories.

"Why are you still following that _fool_, Severus?"

"I'm not volunteering, my Lord. He's keeping me close to him."

"So he could watch you?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Yes... to make sure that I..." He trailed off and frowned behind his mask when the Dark Lord was beginning to smirk.

A cruel smirk. "I am correct, then."

Severus closed his eyes. These memories were only fuelling his distressed thoughts – he needed to calm down!

The feelings warring in his chest now were worse than anything he had experienced before – even during that meeting!

Why, why had he come here today? Why had he showed himself without his defences – why had he exposed everything he had and left himself naked and vulnerable to those... damned eyes – to the one person who meant everything to him?

He should have never come here. He should have kept everything to himself.

This was a mistake.

A big mistake.

Snape stood up quickly, but staggered: he had sat for so long that his muscles were too tense – and he needed to take a moment. He quickly leant on the armrest to release some of the strain, but it had an opposite effect: many colours invaded his vision and he was suddenly nauseous.

He closed his eyes and waited until the worst had passed. The blood was slowly circulating again, the rainbow of colours lessened and the unpleasant sensation could be swallowed back into his stomach. He slowly opened his eyes after a long moment, searched for the door, released his hold on the furniture and walked toward the exit. He had only taken two steps, when he heard a soft voice.

"You're... you're going?" It was a silent whisper, almost inaudible, but Snape heard every word. And he froze.

That couldn't be... it was likely his mind playing tricks with him.

But it was not. For he heard the breathing, and he heard the rustling of clothes.

No, he hadn't imagined it.

But it could not be. He turned–

And he regretted his decision the moment he saw the owner of the voice.

_

* * *

_

Another short chapter...

_The first chapters will be shorter than normal, but in the future ones, they will be longer._

_Many thanks to my beta! _

_She did a wonderful job, and this chapter looks much better after her corrections. _


	3. Anticipation

_Chapter three: Anticipation_

What he feared would happen, was happening at this very moment.

He had had a small hunch, being such a knowledgeable wizard, the moment his eyes had fallen on him when he had entered. He immediately saw the warning signs, and knew something was very wrong here.

He was anticipating it when he started to talk: silent and incoherent, but slowly gaining more volume and growing understandable.

He heard and memorized every word, but at the same time, he wanted to ignore and forget them. He dreaded and feared them, yet hungered for every sound.

"_It was... horrible, but I couldn't... I can't..." _

Every new sentence caused his mind to pulse...

_The soft, lilting voice that he knew so well..._

"_I don't know how to... explain..."_

"_This has grown... unbearable..."_

To think...

"_Did I do the right thing?" _

"_What I did was... correct, wasn't it?"_

To reminiscence...

"_I... am very grateful to you..."_

"_You were... I mean... you are..."_

To react.

"_Don't stop... continue..."_

"_You chose the right course of action."_

"_Hush... don't talk..."_

"You... you're going?"

This was repeating itself. But this was worse.

Much worse.

* * *

"Don't go."

He couldn't even recognize his own voice when he said those two words, but that was the least of his worries – his eyes were solely concentrated on the swiftly, retreating form of his friend.

The younger man stopped, but didn't turn around. Even when his view was partly obscured, he could still see the slight wobble of the other's legs, the tensed, moving shoulders and the shifting head.

It was too late now: the signs were giving him enough information, but he was trying nonetheless, hoping that some words would slip past the countless defences, shields and walls.

* * *

It would happen again, he was almost sure of it – in fact, it was happening now. It would repeat the past.

* * *

Severus quickly tensed his muscles, took a sharp breath, and turned his body away from him.

"Severus?" He ignored him, stood up and brought a hand to his forehead.

"What's wrong?" Severus slowly shook his head with a slight, but deep groan, sat straighter and closed his eyes.

"Severus..."

He started, quickly stood up and walked away.

"Don't go."

* * *

"Don't go."

Maybe he would stay this time... or at least halt his departure, he doubted it. He could not hope for it...

Yet that hope was the last thing that was left – he would be nothing without him.

For he was all he had, _he_ was all he had left.

_

* * *

_

This chapter is... short.

_Some things may be a little vague (or just plain confusing...), but everything will be slowly explained in future chapters. There will be no story if everything would be explained now, right?_

_In the next chapter, I will include the second character, since it will be clear who he is!_

_Of course, if you have questions, you can ask them. I will try to answer them, but if they're plot related, then I may not answer them._

_This chapter is so vague, that even my beta asked for some clarification (she has never done that before!), so don't refrain from asking if you have a question!_


	4. Hope

_Chapter four: Hope_

His voice sounded – for lack of a better description – different. It was almost foreign to him. This quality was not something he had heard often. In fact, he had only heard it on a few occasions. He was sure that he would forget it, when given enough time. He would, of course, not completely forget it; an effective recall, like this instant, was enough to float the memories back to the front of his mind. But, when left undisturbed, it would sit in a far corner of his brain, barely noticeable, like the memories didn't exist at all.

He could remember the first time he had heard _that _quality. It wasn't very evident at that moment, since he was concentrating on other things that the voice...

It was tradition that each student would talk to every teacher who had taught them, whether it be one year or the full seven years, after the certificate ceremony. No one was obliged to do it, but everyone thought that it was the most natural thing to do when someone graduated: the last private moment with the persons who had become surrogate parents, the last memory of them that would stay in one's mind for a long time, the final farewell before the ex-students departed this secure place and faced the wide, unexplored world.

At least, for most students, but he was not classified as a normal student and was never like most old adolescents or young adults.

If he had a choice, he would had left as soon as he knew the results of his final exams. Not that the results were important to him: his future was bleak and no one knew how long he would remain alive before he would be killed, mortally wounded, abandoned or thrown in captivity.

This ceremony had no useful function to him and no one would even notice his absence. No one except one person.

He was the primary reason why he was here at this moment. He was sure that the other would personally search for him if he wasn't present today. It was better to avoid that situation – he would rather endure this day than seeing him when he least expected him.

But now, when he was facing him, he was questioning himself again: why did he come here, again?

He shouldn't be here.

He should be with someone else.

Technically, this wasn't necessary, but most students wouldn't ignore this rare opportunity to stand a half meter away from this person, to talk to him, touch his hand, hear a few words of advice or encouragement or hear the surname – or even the given name – from his mouth.

He was almost a celebrity: his name was almost as famous as a certain other name. Almost.

He was shaking hands with Professor McGonagall – he was saving her for last because she had always treated him in a respectable, decent and lenient way, she was one of the few Professors who can easily control a class and her teaching methods were good in his opinion – when he saw in his eye corner that the Headmaster was strolling toward him. He quickly withdrew his hand, and after a final word and smile from Professor McGonagall, said his goodbye, intertwined with a subtle gratitude, and walked away, only to see the Headmaster two meters away from him and staring in his eyes. He knew that he couldn't walk in a big circle around him or subtly turning his back toward him.

He gazed at the Transfigurations Professor again. She was staring at the wall, but she turned her head to the Headmaster when she noticed him, and after a moment, looked at him. When their gazes met, she smiled again, but a student appeared before her and blocked their view.

He moved his head down and gazed at the ground. If only he could ignore him and walk away...

Leather-strapped boots, a dark red robe, adorned with bronze, and a small part of a hand appeared in his vision. His head was lifted a little, and he stared at the slightly wrinkled hand. He expected it to return to the original position when he didn't react, but the hand didn't move.

After a long moment, he dared a quick glance at the face, that changed to a long stare when he saw the expression – sad, melancholy and gloomy mixed with a touch of relief, without a trace of hostility or hatred. It soon changed to a neutral face.

The Headmaster gazed at his hand, silently nudging the other to shake hands. After another glance at the outstretched fingers, he touched the skin.

He anticipated a quick and weak handshake, but it was the complete opposite: warm fingers gripped his own ones firmly. He could barely restrain himself from reacting in a defensive way.

"Congratulations, Mr. Snape." He could hear a small quality of pride in the Headmaster's voice and saw an unknown glint in his blue eyes. It surprised him and he needed a silent moment before he answered.

"Thank you... Headmaster."

"I've heard that you've a few Outstandings on your list and only one Acceptable. Very well done, Mr. Snape."

It wasn't very impressive: most subjects weren't a difficult challenge to him. And he refused to double a year – he would not prolong his stay if that could be avoided – so he focused on the weaker points. Everyone could do that. There was nothing special about it.

But Snape nodded, satisfying the Headmaster, and gently pulled his hand back, but the other's hold was still firm.

Maybe he shouldn't have nodded.

"It's less impressive than you think, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded slightly, as if confirming something to himself, and after subtly gazing around him and seeing that no one was observing them, moved forward and brought his face close to his ear while he laid his left hand on his shoulder.

"Do not forget, Severus, that you will _never_ be alone..." He shivered at the contact; the abrupt change of the subject and the Headmaster's use of his first name, something he had rarely – or even never – used before. He tried to take a step back, but the other tightened his hold.

"You are always welcome here in Hogwarts..." He froze and listened intently to every word, even when a part said that he should push the other away and ignore the words.

"When you need advice, when you need help, when you need... _someone_..." the Headmaster was talking slower and quieter now while slowly relaxing his hold on Snape.

"Call out... and help will come to you..."

The Headmaster stepped back and released him, after giving his right hand a final squeeze, but his eyes were still intensely focused on his black ones. He had a strange feeling that Dumbledore was trying to communicate through his eyes alone.

This was too much for him.

He quickly gazed away, trying to calm his mind, where a battle was fought, and tried to analyse a foreign feeling – no, foreign feelings, he corrected himself – but everything was too clouded, too abrupt, too... unknown.

* * *

The firm handshake, the half-embrace, the look in his eyes, the words... He noticed everything, but not the tone. Maybe he did notice it, but chose to logically explain it. He would do that often if something unexpected had happened: it gave him a safe ground to stand on, something to grab when an explanation was needed, something that calmed him and wouldn't cause his mind to think.

Another possibility was that he had ignored it. Maybe he was too overwhelmed to notice every detail. The presence of the Headmaster was already slowly disorientating him. His touching him was certainly not helping. He had never been someone who liked physical contact. Since he was a small baby, he had shunned every touch, except when it was needed, like breastfeeding and travelling. At least, that was what his mother had told him years later. The curious thing was, when he grew older, he slowly began to relax whenever he felt his mother's touch. He refused to believe that he sometimes felt at ease, but he didn't feel uncomfortable when fingers smoothed out his hair, a hand touched his head, an arm embraced him, or a body against his smaller one.

His other parent had the bottom place on the who-may-touch-me list. It was a short list, since he wasn't someone who liked people in general – something that the past had drilled in him – and he knew almost no one. The Headmaster should also be put in that direction: he was a stranger to him and what he had done had angered him for many years.

But now, he was the first in the list, and he was talking about more than one list.

He would not remember that particular quality in the Headmaster's voice. His voice, as he would remember, was everything but that. His voice was calm and soft and never patronising or commanding – except for a few exceptions, like one time a few years ago...

"I can't believe that you've done that!"

"Severus, I have already told-"

"Him! Of all people, you have to choose _him_?"

The other shifted his body again, sighed and stared at Snape. "His name is-"

"I know what his name is!" He stopped his pacing and stood in front of the desk.

"It's good to know what kind of place this really is." The Headmaster raised his eyebrows.

"Whatever do you-"

"Stop doing that, Headmaster!" Dumbledore remained silent while he continued to glance at the other with a confused, but tired expression. Snape narrowed his eyes while he leaned at the desk.

"So you've changed this to a refuge, a place where the shunned can go?" Snape demanded.

Dumbledore sat straighter and smoothed the muscles in his face.

"It's good to know that everyone is welcome here," Snape finished, something venomous smearing his tone.

"Severus, not-" Dumbledore began. His voice had gained a weary quality.

"Where do you put the line?" he didn't wait for the answer, but continued. "Werewolves are in the safe zone, and Death Eaters too, apparently. Who will you hire next, Headmaster?" Snape put his hands flat on the desk to support his weight.

"Perhaps you can invite the convicted murderer. They make such a pair."

"Severus..." He could faintly hear the warning tone of the other's low voice, but he was too engrossed in this tirade to stop.

"Or maybe another Death Eater? Since I am – in your opinion – not the perfect example, you can easily find someone who can show me the proper ways."

"Severus." _That_ quality could be clearly heard now. But still, Snape didn't stop.

"You only need to ask. I am more than happy to continue my previous path and-"

"Stop!" The sound of a hand hitting the wooden desk one time, and the tone of the other's voice, stopped him. Snape stared confusedly at the Headmaster – more specifically, at the changed glint in the blue eyes and the foreign quality of his voice.

"You will stop this now. My decision will not change and I don't want to hear you speaking to me in that manner. And I do _not _want to hear you speak about yourself in that manner. Do I make myself clear?" Snape leaned back, still shocked from the unexpected outburst and the quality of the other's voice, and stared at a lower point of the aged face, unable to watch the different eyes.

He had gone too far, this time.

Severus instantly regretted the sentences he had said, for he didn't mean most of it, not really. But he was acting on impulse. That wasn't nearly an acceptable reason, but it was the truth. It was a despicable truth, though.

An apology was not enough to neutralise the damage, but it was the only thing he could do now.

* * *

It was a very weak apology, and he knew that the Headmaster wasn't believing it, even when he accepted it a mere second later and said that they both had strayed too far: his voice had still a small part of _that _quality and the shimmer in the eyes was not completely gone.

Even when Albus invited him to drink tea with him afterwards – like nothing had occurred moments ago – he could still see and feel that the other was not at ease.

It wasn't a reassuring thing, but Snape was glad that Dumbledore wasn't using that tone when he spoke those two words. The gladness was felt for a fleeting moment, for the quality that Albus had used this time, was even worse.

A furious, commanding Headmaster he could manage. He had done that many times before with other persons – his past had made sure of that – and knew exactly what he should do to get the best outcome. He knew how he must act and what he should say.

But a sombre, sad and an almost pleading Albus was something entirely different.

How must one act when facing someone who was experiencing these feelings and thoughts? What must one _do _to lessen them?

"_Severus..." _

"_I will not leave you, if that is what you want to say." _

"_But-" _

"_I will _not _leave you, _Albus_." _

He had tried it, once, but he was sure that he was _not _doing it in the proper way. The comfort was almost nowhere to be seen from his part: the reactions were brusque, rough and lacked warmth. The roles were reversed, but Snape didn't manage to do what Albus could do very well.

Maybe he was having an adverse effect on Albus. His presence could worsen the other's state. At that time, he hadn't thought about it: his mind was solely focused on the older wizard and his... uncharacteristic behaviours.

What if that was true?

What if it is true now? What if he had made everything worse by coming here?

For the umpteenth time, that thought was pulsing in his mind: he should _not _have come here.

Snape stared at the other's face, and saw the same expression as his latest recollection. But this time, he saw something different. Something that was omitted in the previous time. He couldn't discern it completely, but he thought he could see... anticipation and... hope?

Hope.

It was such a foreign word to him now. Most people would feel hope. It could be very noticeable, or hidden inside, but everyone knew what hope was and how it felt: even when one was dropped very low into a never-ending fall, with no chance of a helping hand or a favourable outcome, when hope reached them, they would feel bliss. At those times, it would seem that nothing could go wrong, that Fortuna will guide them to a path that included prosperity and happiness, that they had never been feeling depressed and hopeless.

Hopeless...

That summarized how Snape felt now. Moments ago, he felt desperation and even hope, but now they mattered not.

Nothing mattered now. Except _one _person, but he quickly quenched that thought. There was truth in that, but he would not risk the possible result if he followed it.

So, when he looked at the other, he said to himself that he would not talk, would not move toward him and he must _not _act.

* * *

_As you probably have already noticed... I've changed some (small) things._

_I'm curious to know what you think about them and... you can always push the review button! _


	5. Tea

_Chapter five: Tea_

The first sentence he had spoken was after he had contemplated it for a moment or two. He spoke the words aloud in his mind once before choosing to make them audible. They were released with the proper properties: the right volume, the right tone, the right words. It did not betray how he felt deep inside; that would not make this situation any better. For either of them.

He was pleased with the amount of control he had managed to produce, it almost bordered on smugness. But that feeling was only temporary, when the other turned around but did not respond.

His fears were confirmed when he saw the aged face. The shallow serenity quickly evaporated and once again, panic reigned.

The memories replayed in his mind, the many sentences – past and present – repeating themselves and echoing loudly against the walls of his mind. He tensed his vocal chords and said the first thing that came to mind. And the sound was certainly uncharacteristic, and he knew it would not go unnoticed.

Blue eyes met darker ones and they both were unmoving for many moments.

This was not a comfortable silence, yet neither attempted to break it. Reactions were unnecessary; neither of them were retreating and both were immobilised by his planned, yet maybe foolish words.

So he examined the black eyes.

There was a glint in those eyes that proved to him that he would have to take the initiative, or they would stay in these stances for many hours to come.

"A cup of tea?"

Snape knew the Headmaster would resort to this tactic, but still, a surprised expression crossed his face. Even when Dumbledore was in a situation such as the present one, he could still think about tea. He truly was a fanatic about tea.

Nonetheless, tea had succeeded many times where other methods had failed. At least now, Albus would never have to ask 'a cup of tea' in the same way as he had in the past.

Albus' tea invitations were not only about tea, they had a second purpose, a hidden meaning. The quality in which it was carried and the various methods the message was conveyed, reflected things. These 'things' could be very broad, or detailed. Snape's hands had perceived many.

He suspected he was one of the few select that knew about this mystery, and could solve the riddles.

"_Would you like to convene with me this evening for some refreshments and tea? You need not arrive if hesitation colourants your envisage. I shall await you in my office." _

"_Perhaps you have that luxury in the next few hours? This tartness may stimulate zest, enjoyment, but I will require an equitable and autonomous viewpoint."_

"_Ah, an unfettered evening, presently? Shall we indulge in a cup of tea and titbits of the manifold provided biscuits and wafers?" _

The invitations were conveyed in this manner when he was still young and ignorant: formal, bombastic and never undeviating. But they came not so frequent. Once in two weeks was normal. Sometimes he would refuse, but he would never ignore it more than thrice.

At some point, Dumbledore sent them in a different manner. _Very _differently. Occasionally, they could not be given the name called 'invitation'...

"_This Friday, perhaps? We can discuss then with tea's attendance: the perfect beverage for this kind of situation."_

"_I don't want to hear a 'no'. You will come after you have added the last ingredient, or I will fetch you."_

"_Of course not, Severus. Give me twenty... no, ten minutes, and then I will join you."_

Snape noticed that the oldest, living person in this castle was inviting him on a weekly basis. He was confused and suspicious at the beginning; knowledge failed to grasp a suitable reaction. It resulted in a long period without acknowledgement, but the invitations were received in the same pace, something Snape had not expected to happen.

He would never admit this to a person besides himself, but he was slowly, but gradually, missing their meetings after two weeks and was secretly pleased that Dumbledore had not withdrawn them. So, after he had refused yet another one, he could not pretend a minute longer that the tea proposals meant nothing to him, and renewed his tendency to answer them, albeit with struggle. But he slowly observed that Albus had no hidden motives or thoughts behind the increased frequency of the invitations. Soon, they were omitted altogether and had become a natural thing to do.

"_No... you may leave after you have consumed it... or at least sipped it."_

"_Why won't you choose this time, Severus?"_

"_An _excellent_ idea, my boy."_

Snape suspected that Albus enjoyed his company. He could always seize certain signals when time had indicated to depart or when they were interrupted. Sometimes it was unnoticeable, at other times very visible. A long period was required before he could conclude that the other was radiating his suspicions, and even more time before he had sought to believe it: disappointment and unhappiness.

He was astonished, but shock rapidly substituted it: he felt the same way. It had occurred a few days, after he had solved that puzzle, in his next visit. It was longer than usual, since he came earlier than the agreed time. He expected Dumbledore to be busy, but the Headmaster discarded the paperwork and joined him, creating the impression that Snape was more important than the pressing papers.

It was late in the evening before he left, but the reluctance was heavy and it was Albus who subtly suggested a retirement.

In the distant past, the Headmaster would prepare their tea, but when they had sampled many, too many flavours over the years, Albus decided that Severus should pick a flavour. He did not have a broad knowledge about tea: in comparison with Albus, he was but a beginner, shyly peeking at the endless, indistinct leafs and blindly reaching for a random one.

In the first months, he chose the prominent ones. They were secure, but not satisfying enough. Albus would drink them without hesitation, as always, but Snape would rarely copy the wrinkled hand's movements: there was always something that was missing or would progress incorrectly.

That was when he began to... research. While Albus would stay safely in his comfort zone and would rarely wander outside the firmly established boundary, Snape would try different and new experiences. And tea was one of them.

He contemplated for a moment. Two days ago, one particular flavour was peaking his interest while he was absorbing the letters of a book about herbs. The contents of the paragraphs were exotic to him, not only the flavour, but the preparing process also, as were the teapot and cups.

This could be the perfect chance to experiment. He almost whispered the name of the tea and examined the aged face's reaction. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, but did not halt him.

He stood up and summoned the needed items. The hot, but not boiling, water was mixed with the small leaves. He then waited, anxiously, for a few minutes until the leaves had expanded enough, before removing most of the black residue by filtering the liquid in a small, light brown, pottery teapot. He filled two very small cups and gave one to the waiting hand of the Headmaster.

He picked up his own, sat more comfortably and gazed at the other, who swallowed a small sip. He heard a sound indicating surprise from the Headmaster and saw that he took another sample, but this time, the liquid was not immediately given the passage to continue the journey. Snape followed his example.

The flavour was... different. The sweet flavour was noted, but it was cloaked with a bitter taste. It shouldn't have the second flavour. It should have-

The leaves in the small cup waved at him, and immediately, a page of the well-read book flashed before his eyes; more specifically, a paragraph, containing several factors and errors that could easily be avoided, but difficult to fix, once fallen in the snare.

He had made one such mistake.

That accident was a rare one. Since then, he had improved. Slightly. He was a fast learner, but this trait failed him in the subject called tea. Most times, the tea was acceptable. It wasn't in the most excellent quality, but it was not disastrous either. But an accident would still occur sporadically.

Albus had not said anything about this. The imperfections were noticed, but not one cup's content would rest on the rim: at least half would vanish. Even when Severus asked for his opinion, the response was too lenient, changing the faults into minor ones or ignoring certain points. Even when it tasted repulsive, Albus would still smile and consume it, as he would when facing his favourite beverage.

The blue eyes were still staring at him while he glanced at them. A realisation suddenly smacked him: he had not answered Albus. In fact, he hadn't done anything, keeping his informal promise.

Without showing another sign, the Headmaster raised his wand and summoned a tea tray. With practised hands, he prepared their tea. He would always make the tea in the same way, and without magic, except the summoning. Snape would always be the first to have a cup in his hands. This time was not an exception, but Dumbledore was sluggish this time, projecting that his mind was not completely present in this room.

As the teacup was moved to his direction, his arm did not stretch for interception. The older wizard was anticipating this; the cup was lowered to the small table in the near vicinity. Next, he slowly made his own tea, but ignored steps, and Snape's forehead creased slightly when watching the other glancing at the freshly made cup and then setting it near its mirror image without further action.

It would almost never happen that the Headmaster would make tea, and then not savouring it, or at least take a small sip. And _never _would he skip a step, particularly with this flavour: Dumbledore had relished this on many occasions.

Something was wrong.

Snape expected to see the blue gaze focused on him, but the eyes were watching the table. Black eyes travelled to the same spot and instantly found the object of interest.

As Snape's gaze searched the other, Dumbledore's was staring at the small can with an imperceptible smile on his face, but their eyes quickly met. They both recognized the other colour's glint and knew that they were reminiscing about the same thing.

Long, elegant fingers reached for the tiny can. The first three lifted the round lid and the neck was craned so the contents could be examined. This view was not satisfying enough, because the can was nudged closer toward the edge of the table, hastening the search.

After a moment, eyes were narrowed and a slight noise in a throat was made, indicating that the guilty person was in thought... or annoyed.

He set his jaw: how dare he turn his attention to a thing other than his presence!

So, he was now less worth than those despicable things?

The Headmaster hummed slightly and then straightened his back to glance at the standing wizard. He gestured with his hand to the object in the other one. Snape didn't even react: he needed all his attention to not do something... foolish. Besides, the Headmaster already knew his answer. It would always be the same.

When no response met his senses, Dumbledore spoke the silent inquiry, thinking that Snape had missed the gesture.

"Do you want..."

The answer followed immediately after he had said the first word, "no."

"Are you sure? They are quite-"

"No."

He had made his answer known, twice now, in a very restrained way. His eyes were piercing holes on the edge of the desk, but now they were staring at the can that was moving closer to his view.

Snape had considerably controlled himself since he had entered this room, but when the images of the coloured sweets smothered his mind, all calmness was abruptly drained and a sudden urge to grab the object and fling it to the man opposite him was tempting his thoughts.

Fortunately, his hands were blind, yet, to that command. His mouth opened instead, but before he could say a word, the Headmaster was already talking.

"Please take-"

"No!"

His attention was on the blue eyes, expecting to see a changed expression, but no lines were visible, and no glint could be seen. Somehow, this supplied him with another reason to continue, to draw out a response.

"I don't want any of those _damn_ things!"

He stood up, slid the chair backwards with loud, scraping noise and glared angrily at the gentle blue colour. He imagined in his head numerous objects bouncing with great force against the Headmaster, most against the ridiculously coloured robe, with several against his face, and one or two knocking the spectacles away from the long, asymmetric nose.

Then, the image was frozen and he abruptly forgot his fury at the strange sight in his mind and a strange sound slipped through his throat.

Even when the outcome of that meeting was favourable, it went generally disastrous. He had been experiencing a bad day, resulted from several unfortunate things fused together. And the Headmaster became sole victim of his emotions. But not only him, but also...

Sweets.

That was, beside tea, another thing that could not be overlooked when one heard the name of the Headmaster: he would always have some sweets in his reach. Sometimes they appeared from the most strangest places...

"I think it's best if..." he trailed off when seeing the other's eyes, focused on the desk. They were examining every inch of the wooden material, but apparently, they didn't find what they were searching for, for a hand joined the search a moment later.

Snape stared between the person opposite him, and the desk, trying to discern what he was attempting to accomplish.

A harmonic sound broke through their musings. Both gazes turned toward the red bird when Fawkes landed deftly on an unused spot of the desk.

"Ah! There it is."

The Headmaster reached for his pet and, after glancing at the soft, black eyes, tapped at the claw. The hold of the claw unbounded, and a small object fell on the cupped hand of the Headmaster, accompanied by another musical sound. Fawkes bent down and attempted to pick it up with his beak, but Dumbledore retreated his hand.

"You have already _helped_ enough, Fawkes..."

The exact meaning of that sentence remained a puzzle, even when he inquired it twice during that meeting. The Headmaster remained quiet, or replied a vague answer, but his responses were enough for him to at least suspect what had occurred.

Still gazing into the blue eyes, he noticed that, once again, both minds were swimming in the same ocean: it would be wise if Dumbledore did not offer them to him. Or, a more accurate thought would be: it will be better if I do not behave like usual. That appeared more like the words Albus would use.

He did not. Snape did see an arm stretching a fraction, but it quickly returned to the original stance.

They stared at each other again, in complete silence. This silence was less uncomfortable than a previous one, but it wasn't nearly how they would normally feel.

And Snape wasn't even sure whether he wanted it, to feel comfortable.

He was not sure whether he deserved it...

_

* * *

_

This chapter took me more time to complete than usual. The cause: Albus' tea invitations, especially the first ones... It was like a puzzle, trying to decipher the (right) solution!

_As you may have already noticed, I've not separated past and present. I hope that everything remains relatively clear, but, if not, I would like to know._


End file.
